Seven Times Seven
by Hopeakaarme
Summary: Kabaji keeps track of things, track of years and players and love letters, but as Atobe finally kisses him he doesn't count the kisses. Shounen ai AtoKaba.


Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Konomi Takeshi does. I'm merely playing with them for the moment.

A/N: The words "Seven times seven" have been plaguing me lately for unknown reasons. This is my attempt to get them out of my head.

* * *

Seven Times Seven

As soon as he was big enough to know more about numbers than the ever-so-handy "I'm this many fingers old" gesture, Atobe started telling everyone he and Kabaji had been apart seven years before they finally met for the first time. Kabaji, for his part, had always been rather confused about this claim; after all, while Atobe was older than him, even Kabaji could by then tell neither of them had been seven years old when they'd first met in kindergarten. As he protested, though, Atobe just gave him that look that meant that Atobe knew better because Atobe always knew better.

"Kabaji lived three years and I lived four years," Atobe informed him. "That's seven years."

"Can you count them together like that?" asked Kabaji, who was still a bit hazy on the details of the grand mystery what was mathematics.

"Well, duh." Atobe smiled. "That's because we're together now!"

Kabaji just nodded at the obviously sensible answer and didn't question Atobe any further.

~S~

At that one night when Kabaji was staying over during a thunder storm, there were finally seven people altogether in Atobe's big bed.

Of course, he'd tried to be brave. He didn't want Atobe to think he was a coward or a little child or anything. However, even though he'd stayed over often the bed still wasn't quite as familiar and comfortable as his own, and the windows were big and flashed white every time lightning cracked outside. The thunderstorm was right above them, he was sure it would hit the mansion any moment now, and he was all alone in the bed with his teddy bear.

Taking the teddy bear into his arms he slid out of the bed, shivering at the cold floor. Startled by the loud boom from the outside, he practically ran across the room and out into the hallway.

Luckily Atobe's room was near. Peeking in through the doorway, Kabaji almost wished Atobe was asleep. If Atobe was asleep maybe he could just crawl into Atobe's bed and then maybe claim he'd ended up there in his sleep or something.

He was startled to find Atobe standing right before him, his own stuffed bunny under his arm, hand reached towards the door knob.

Atobe was, of course, the one who recovered first. "I was going to come see if you wanted Mr. Bunny," he said. "Mr. Bunny said you might be afraid." Then, not giving Kabaji a chance to say yes or no, he grasped on Kabaji's hand with the hand that wasn't clutching onto Mr. Bunny, dragging him towards his bed.

Atobe's bed was big and warm and just right for two little boys and their teddy and bunny. It was so big, in fact, that when Atobe's father's two dogs slipped in through the door Kabaji had forgotten to close behind him, they didn't protest as the dogs jumped onto the bed with them, curling up close. Not that they were afraid of the still continuing thunder, no, but the dogs were warm and besides the dogs were scared weren't they.

By the time someone walked into the room to see if they were all right, sitting on the edge of the bed to bring the number up to seven, both Kabaji and Atobe were fast asleep, snuggled up together.

~S~

Atobe was seven when he first started tennis.

Nobody could recall exactly where the idea had come from, first, had someone suggested it or had Atobe gotten it into his head all on his own, but when Atobe thought of something he usually had his way. He did so this time as well, starting to train in a sport he had no previous experience in, soon beating kids who had played a lot longer than he had because Atobe was just great that way. He seemed to have a natural talent for it, too, developing early on the manner of instincts some people spent years trying to achieve.

Kabaji didn't even think of playing at first. He was too clumsy for it, surely, and besides it was Atobe's place to shine and Kabaji shouldn't do anything to endanger that. Finally it took Atobe actually pressing a racquet in his hand and telling him to go on the other side of the court.

Kabaji was rather surprised how easy it was, in the end. He merely had to follow Atobe's playing for a moment before he could already imitate it, down to every detail.

What he didn't understand was exactly why Atobe seemed so amazed at his achieving something so simple.

~S~

The number of players on the standard line-up was seven, not counting the reserve.

One didn't have to be a genius to realize that this meant one of the regulars would always have to be the reserve. Some of them would protest quite vocally for being left out of the main line-up, some didn't really care all that much. Kabaji was one of those who didn't care. He trusted Atobe to come up with the best line-up possible, and if that line-up didn't include him, that was fine. It wasn't like he was a tensai like Oshitari, after all, or excellent in doubles like their very own Golden Pair; there was hardly any match where he couldn't have been replaced by someone else.

For some reason, however, he always ended up playing, time and time and time again.

He never questioned it. He never questioned Atobe.

~S~

The most love letters Kabaji ever carried in his bag waiting to get to Atobe was seven.

He wasn't exactly sure why the girls always gave them to him, or why he agreed to help them. If they'd known Atobe at all they'd have known that Atobe wouldn't even think twice about dating someone who couldn't even deliver their letter to him personally. Not that Atobe was very easy about letting random people close to himself, but certainly not impossible. Regardless of this, girls kept giving Kabaji their letters, and Kabaji kept taking them to Atobe, who merely glanced at them briefly before scoffing and throwing them away without as much as a quick look at the first line. It seemed somewhat cruel to Kabaji, but then it wasn't like the girls needed to know, and he always made sure the letters at least reached Atobe but it wasn't like he could force Atobe to read them.

Maybe one day, Atobe would actually read one of them and maybe respond, and maybe then the letters would stop, but until then Kabaji would keep delivering the letters, one or two or even the seven at a time.

~S~

It took Atobe all of seven days to get the Golden Pair to admit they had started dating.

Of course, they both denied it, Ootori flushed with embarrassment and Shishido with annoyance, but as Atobe kept pushing and pushing they finally relented. Kabaji wasn't sure what kind of a reaction they had expected, but they certainly seemed surprised when the general consensus of the Hyoutei team seemed to be approximately, "Well, it was about time." Atobe was one of those who were most strongly of this opinion, smirk as he did at their flushes.

For some reason, this made Kabaji feel oddly relieved.

~S~

Kabaji tried to tell Atobe seven times that he liked him, and failed every time.

He'd never been too good at expressing himself with words, not even around his best friend, and these words seemed particularly hard to force out of his mouth. Whenever he actually gathered the courage to actually try something would come up, someone would walk in or Atobe would say something or something else would break both his concentration and resolve. He tried seven times, as he counted them, once even getting as far as, "Keigo, I –", but then Atobe's phone rang and he mouthed a silent, 'later,' at him and then later he couldn't bring himself to say it again.

He had just about resigned himself to being unable to say it at all, to stay silently by Atobe's side, like he always had, when Atobe walked to him and asked what it was he had been trying to say all the time. Only now Kabaji couldn't even begin to say it, simply looking at him helplessly, looking at Atobe in all his beauty and confidence and perfection and deciding he probably didn't have any right to say such things after all.

Only Atobe apparently didn't need to hear the words, Atobe had never needed words from him, and suddenly there was a hand behind his head pulling him close and soft, soft lips pressed against his, and he could almost swear he felt a murmur of, "I know, Munehiro," against his lips.

He didn't keep track of the kisses Atobe gave him, but he was fairly sure there were more than seven.


End file.
